The Sweetest Thing
by snapescelticgirl
Summary: He has a private life which none of them know. And none of them could possibly understand. He has needs that only she can fulfill. Hotch/OC
1. My Heart Stood Still

**Dis: I own nothing except for my OC. Criminal Minds and the characters belong to those who created them. Songs listed belong to their respective artists.**

* * *

The first time it happened it was a drunken rendezvous. A collision between two people in pain, fuelled by the artificial bravado given to them by thirty year old whiskey. It was purely physical, not a hint of emotion other than primal passion. When it was over, there was no awkwardness. Just the acceptance of what had happened and a silent goodbye.

* * *

I was singing in a classy little jazz bar in New Orleans. It was one of my favourites to work and relax in. Dark wood on the floor, rich colors on the walls. The perfect atmosphere for the broken hearted to drown their sorrows.

I noticed him from the moment he walked in the door. His whole demeanour spoke volumes to me of the anger and frustration he was feeling. The jacket of his expensive tailored suit came off and draped haphazardly over the back of the stool. He wretched his tie loose before stripping it off completely and shoving it into an inside pocket. He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows. One hand ran thru the short black hair on his head, making it stick up at odd angles. I saw more than heard his sigh as his head dropped into his hands.

Nate, the bartender and owner, was at the other end of the bar speaking to a regular. He looked to me as I started the last song in my set. I motioned towards the newcomer with my head and he nodded back to me. The guy barely looked up as Nate spoke but he must have ordered a drink because a double shot of Glenfiddich soon disappeared. Then another. The third he sipped at, slowly.

When I think back to the song I started singing after he came in, it was poetic coincidence. Ella Fitzgerald's version of '_My Heart Stood Still'_. If I had known what lay ahead that night, I wouldn't have tempted fate with such an offering.

(Oh, the lies that settle as ash on my tongue.)

I could not stop my eyes from straying to him as I sang. He must have sensed it, for his gaze finally turned to the stage I stood on. For a second, the note I was holding wavered. I had never before had such an intense stare focused on me. His eyes were so brown they were almost black. I could see the emotions he was trying to hide. And yet his face was blank. For anyone who hadn't taken the time to look he was just some guy in a bar. But I could see . . .Oh I could see so much more.

Perhaps it was my own expression that brought him to self awareness. Perhaps it was the wavering note. Perhaps it was the whiskey that finally settled his heightened emotional state. Whatever it was I curse it. For it made him close his eyes and when they opened again, they were as blank as his face.

I forced myself to look away with restrained difficulty. But I could tell that his gaze never strayed from my presence. The end of the song came and to quiet applause I headed to the bar. Nate poured my usual and gave me a wink. I knew what that wink meant. It was an offering. One that I would have been inclined to accept but for one thing. A double shot of whiskey was placed next to my hand.

Conversation started with a compliment followed by the requisite inquires of residence, vocation and marital status. With age comes wisdom and the lack of a ring did not mean what it used to. But with heartache comes loneliness and before my next set our level of intoxication was well matched.

A little Billie Holiday, a touch of Lena Horne and I could read the passion once again. His half smile made my heart pound. I wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up in the maelstrom of emotion that swirled around him. Moments after my last set, we were heading for the exit. It was a blur of lights and color and muted voices as the door to my home became our last obstacle. I was pressed against it as it closed.

There was such urgency in our embrace that completion wouldn't be denied. The first time he took me against the door. Hard, rough, no loving words or careful caresses. And it was exactly what we both wanted. The pleasure was so great that tears cascaded down my face as I reached behind me to hold him closer. He rested his forehead against the back of my neck, shuddering in the release.

When he stepped back, I turned to him. Whatever he beheld in my face caused him to reach for me. I took his hand and showed him upstairs.

The night was punctuated with pleasure and conversation. I told him about my husband's infidelity with my closest friend. He spoke of his fiancé who had called off the wedding that morning. He had brought her here for a relaxing weekend and to explain that he had been transferred from one side of the country to the other. She hadn't taken it well.

I assured him that she would change her mind. He hoped I was right. He assured me I would find love again. I feared that I already had.

As he brought me to the heights of pleasure yet again, I prayed that I would forget this night. That the whiskey that had brought us here, took with it the exquisite memories we had created. That in the morning all that would remain was the aftermath of an erotic dream.

He was gone in the morning, but the gentleman in him dictated he leave a note. It was short and to the point. But it was written with incredible honesty and passionate gratitude. The smile it brought to my face was nothing compared to the affect it had on my heart. The ache of betrayal eased and I regained some of myself worth. I could look in the mirror without wondering if another man would find me attractive and worthy of his time.

I didn't know if I would ever see him again. But in the morning with a head free of the cloud of alcohol, I prayed that I would.


	2. Alone

The second time we came together, I was performing in Boston. Another night, another bar. After my divorce I threw myself into my music. It was the only thing holding me together most days. That and the memories of his eyes, his hands, his mouth. His. . .not my husbands. Those helped the most. I can admit that I drank too much some nights but it was the only way to dull the despair.

* * *

I had stacked my song list with heartache and pain. Misery they say loves company and I needed companionship. Dinah Washington's _'Alone'_was echoing thru the bar when the owner of the eyes that haunted my dreams walked in. I was startled at the directness of his gaze. He kept eye contact with me as he sat at a table in the front, close to where I stood. A waitress took his order and when she returned, placed two glasses in front of him. I smiled gently and motioned to the band behind that this was the last song for the night.

When I stepped off stage, I felt like I was stepping back in time. He was here. Against all odds we once again found ourselves pushed together as if Fate enjoyed this game. I sat slowly, watching his eyes move down my body in undisguised appraisal. My hand took the glass carefully; I prayed he wouldn't see how it shook. The sight, the smell, the heat from his body was overwhelming my senses. I tipped my head and drank the entire glass in one swallow. The burn helped calm my nerves. Gave me something to focus on other than his lips.

He stood and held out his hand. I could no more deny him than I could deny my body breath. I placed my hand in his. A gasp escaping as he tightened his grip and brought me up against his solid frame. I stammered out the address to my temporary apartment. He merely turned and headed out the door, my hand still gripped in his.

I could tell something was wrong. The gold band on his finger told me I had been right about the fiancé. His expensive suit told me he was still employed and doing well. Whatever was troubling him was also dictating his actions. His black SUV was parked nearby and before I could truly appreciate being in his presence we were at my home.

Somehow I instinctively knew what he needed from me. He needed to control. He needed to take charge and he needed me to obey. So I did. I unlocked the door, entered in front of him and dropped my coat on a chair. He spoke a single word. **Bedroom**. I nodded and walked down the hallway as he followed in the wake of my lustful daze. His next word stuttered my breath as he pressed into my body from behind. **Strip**. His lips grazed my neck and his breath brought goose bumps across my skin.

When I stood before him naked, his eyes became feral. I have never given to another what I gave to him that night. My body, my mind, my soul. I held nothing back and he refused nothing. When his appetite was sated, he wrapped me in his arms and told me. Told me why he needed what he had silently begged me to give him.

A bad case. Too many bodies. Then being sent away when the killing ended but no suspect caught. He didn't want to leave but wasn't being given a choice. Had had his decisions made for him. His control taken away.

I could do nothing but listen. As we fell asleep, still joined as one, he whispered his thanks across my lips. My own gratitude was much less vocal.

In the morning, I awoke to clear brown eyes. No trace of what clouded them yesterday. The sweetest kiss I have ever received followed by an embrace that reiterated goodbye. He dressed slowly as if drawing out our final moments before reaching into his pocket to replace the gold band on his finger. I unwittingly gave a sad smile but told him I was glad things had worked out. He replied I would find love again. Once again I feared I already had. But I refused to replace one burden with another on him.

Another taste of his lips before I was once again alone.


	3. All of You

The next time it happened, it wasn't alcohol fuelling our motives. Nor was it a desperate need for the control that he sought before. This time he needed to give up the control. Needed me to direct, command, specify what he was to do. He obeyed each order with the same enthusiasm with which he had given orders the last time. The next morning, again there was no awkwardness. He stayed a little longer this time.

* * *

I had been approached to do a tour of the Eastern coast from an old friend of mine. I was hesitant to go but knew that it was an offer I couldn't really refuse. It was during a show in New York that we were solicited to perform at the base in Quantico. The higher ups of the Alphabet clubs and their protégés were getting together and they wanted mood setting music. I guess they figured having a couple of beautiful women to eyeball while dining couldn't hurt. I would have passed on the opportunity but friendship comes with its own set of obligations.

It was during the mingling after our first set that I saw him. Our glance was quick, both of us silently agreeing to anonymity.

It is interesting that no matter the age, profession or orientation of a man, they all believe they can charm any female. One particular. . gentleman. . was very persistent in his not so subtle seduction. I politely declined his offer of a place to stay for the night and headed to the ladies room. As I passed thru a darkened alcove, my arm was grabbed and I was spun into an empty room.

His eyes were shuttered. I couldn't tell if he was upset or happy to see me. I held his gaze until he was forced to look away. He stood there, the weight of the world on his shoulders. I had no idea what had happened to him, for this disillusioned man that was standing in front of me to be here, but I knew what I had to do. I locked the door behind me knowing I had a maximum of fifteen minutes before I had to go back and entertain. He still hadn't moved as I turned back to him. His eyes downcast on the floor still. I told him in a hard cold voice to take off his clothes. His startled eyes met mine but a moment later he complied.

As clichéd as it sounds, he took my breath away. All hard smooth muscle over incredible structure. I swallowed thickly and moved to the conference table in the middle of the room. As I leaned against it I raised my dress and removed the scrap of lace that claimed to hold secrets. I slid back to lie on the table and gave him as sultry a look as I could envision. I told him he had ten minutes to pleasure me into release.

I may have been a few minutes late but the next song I sung had more emotion than anything else I sang the rest of the night. Billie Holiday's _'All of You'_. It wasn't in my usual repertoire but I brought it out on occasion. I caught his eye as I sang. A ghost of a smile crossed his face as he reached into his pocket. It contained the card key to my hotel room.

When I returned to the suite later that night he was already there. I ignored him for a moment as I shrugged the straps of my dress off my shoulders. The sound of the silk hitting the floor brought his gaze to mine. Oh, there was the passion that had been missing on our first glance. To his credit he stayed exactly where he was. I entered the bedroom and returned wrapped in a robe. Pulling him to his feet, I ordered him to tell me as I undressed him.

The firm clench of his jaw lasted only long enough for me to repeat my command. Slowly the words flowed. A child killer, a hesitation, another body. It didn't surprised me he let his emotions burden him this way over this. And I could see it was taking a toll on him already. So just for tonight he would allow me to ease his troubled mind.

* * *

When I woke in the morning he was sitting beside me fully dressed. He stroked my hair from my face and trailed his fingers down my cheek, neck into the hollow of my breasts. It took every ounce of strength I had not to tell him I loved him. It would do no good. Instead, I spoke softly of a trip to Paris I was taking and he spoke of a training seminar that would take him to Dallas. I spoke of several original songs I had penned for well known artists that now graced the airwaves. He spoke of new cases pending.

One last kiss and a soft goodbye. We went our separate ways again. I was more alone than ever. Yet I wouldn't have given up what we had shared for anything.


	4. Mad About the Boy

Our paths didn't cross again for a number of years after the last time. He was in Virginia and I was in New Orleans. I had had some moderate success as a songwriter. In fact I had been nominated for a couple of awards as one. But I always kept watch for any mention of him in the papers. I had made a few friends out in Washington and word was he was headed for the top.  
Made me wish I could share his successes. But I was content to smile from afar.

In those few years I had a couple of forgettable relationships. I wish I could say that I gave them my whole being. I wish I could say I didn't unfairly compare them. I wish I could say that I hadn't found all of them wanting. It was unfair if me to hold them to such a standard. Especially one they knew nothing about. However, I had received a touch of heaven and anything else was so much less.

I can only say that Fate had a hand in our next meeting. For how else do you explain him finding me in Rome?

I had written a song for an artist, which turned out to be her first success in a number of years. As a thank you, she gave me her villa in Italy for a month. I was relaxing and enjoying the warmth and sunshine. Writing and composing. Remembering and desiring. It was a bittersweet time in my life.

I soon discovered a wonderful little cafe and ate there whenever I came into the city. I would shop and explore. Enjoy a glass of wine as the sun etched its way across the sky. That day was no exception. The owner's son was sitting at the next table, a guitar in his hand. He saw me watching and motioned for me to begin. We had done this several times. He would play softly, I would sing and the people walking by would stop and listen. It was lovely and a delicate balance between joy and sorrow.

When he started in with Lena Horne's _'Mad About the Boy'_I felt tears in my eyes. I started the song with a fragility that was so unlike me. I couldn't delude myself that he thought of me at all. It took a will I wasn't sure belonged to me to concentrate on the lyrics.

That's my excuse as to why I didn't see him walk up beside me. He was a shadow that passed from left to right, blocking out the sun. One that didn't leave and seemed motionless. I poured out such feeling into that song. All my grief and longing. Wanting to blame him for dreams of a future that he never promised. Wanting to be held again even as I wanted to strike out at him. The end of the song came and I gave a strained smile at my partner and the crowd.

I sighed resignedly as our eyes met. Of course he was here. His entire manner asked me the question. My answer was to stand and gather my things. He waited patiently. When I was ready he reached for my hand and entwined our fingers. He said he would go. I told him he couldn't.

The walk to my villa was filled with gentle touches and fleeting kisses. Conversation was light and unobtrusive. He was here doing a seminar on his work with the local police. His congratulations on my awards meant more than the awards themselves. The warm breeze and setting sun made for romance. And that night it was what I wanted. He obliged.

It was beautiful. More so than any other time we had been together. We each gave and took from the other in a timeless pattern. Neither of us wanting it to end. As we reached dizzying heights of pleasure, the night air cooled us. It brought with it the delicate scent of night blooming jasmine. We abandoned all pretence of respite. The years, it seemed had nurtured our hunger for what we created when we were together.

The sky was filled with streaks of pink and orange as the sun rose. It was as if our passion was painted across the sky for all to see. He held me with a tenderness that forsook my assumption of his leaving. His hands never stilled as they stroked every inch within their reach. Sleep finally overtook us as the first rays broke over blue water.

Hours later, he awoke me with his lips and adoring touches. Our desire reignited and again I lost all sense of time. When we could take no more, he went back into town to get his things from the hotel. He was leaving in the morning. That he wanted to stay with me brought me such elation.

We found a quaint little restaurant nearby the villa to eat. Endive with gingered crab. Linguine with clams. Rich tiramisu. Strong black espresso. I joked I was too full for any exertion. He took my hand and placed his lips against my wrist. He suckled lightly and looked at me through long dark lashes. My breath stuttered and he smirked as beneath his lips my pulse jumped erratically. I wanted to pull away and scowl at him. Instead images of that morning filled my mind.

I had lived the last years on the memories of one night. As he dressed the next morning, I figured that I could go a decade on the last two days.

For the first time, he expressed regret. Not of what we had shared but of having to leave. He stood angrily then and demanded to know why I let him take advantage of me. I smiled sadly and told him the absolute truth.

I told him that I welcomed these times together. That it meant everything to me. That I wouldn't change it or refuse him . . . Ever. He shook his head but sat beside me again. He told me he loved his wife. That she was the love of his life. My heart nearly shattered but I forced out another smile. He cupped my face with his hands and looked directly into my eyes as I fought the tears. His following words came freely and without guilt. She was the love of his life, but I made him complete. Only when he was with me could he truly let go and be himself. I didn't demand or negotiate. I didn't manipulate or complain. Only when he was with me was he complete.

I told him that was enough for me. He promised that this wouldn't end unless I wanted it. That I would have a hold on him, always. I told him I was for him alone. The fierceness of his kiss bruised my lips and days later I could still feel his touch.

I returned to the states a week later. Hours later a knock sounded at my door. A delivery. Night blooming jasmine. I would forever be his.


	5. All the Things You Are

I'd like to say that after our interlude in Italy, the frequency of our meetings increased. Yet I had commitments I had to honour and his job required only a moment's notice to travel. However unlike the times before, a promise of contact had been given on both sides. And even if physically we were apart, we remained in each other's lives. He wrote to me. And I wrote to him. But it wasn't something as mundane as email.

* * *

A few weeks after the flowers arrived, I gathered my mail from the floor in front of my door. I picked through it with disinterest. A bill, a flyer, an invitation. And then I saw it. A letter. A cream coloured envelope with my name written in elegant penmanship. I stared at it in bewilderment until I saw the postmark was from Virginia. The little sound I made could have been a gasp or a sob. My hands shook as the remaining arrivals fell from my hands and landed back on the floor. I flipped it over, curious at the thickness.

I didn't want to open it. I had no idea what it could contain and the thought of rejection grabbed my heart in a vice. I held the letter in front of me as I wandered upstairs to the bedroom. This wasn't the same house where we had first . . . No memories of him echoed here. I knew as soon as I opened the letter, there would be a vivid one. I just wasn't sure if it would be wonderful or terrible.

My mouth felt stuffed with cotton. I dared not make a sound for fear of choking. The thought of just throwing it away crossed my mind but any part of him was too precious to treat so callously. I took a deep breath and slid my finger under the closed flap, taking care not to rip it in anyway.

I gently slid the letter out, noticing that it was several pages long. The paper it was written on was beautiful. Creamy white to match the envelope. This was not paper you picked up anywhere. It had to have been a special order. My heart raced at that thought. Had he gotten something special, specific just for me?

Another deep breath as I tried to ignore the way my entire body tensed with negative anticipation.

As I began to read, excitement replaced my dread. His words were graceful as he spoke of Italy and New Orleans. He spoke of how I made him complete, how my presence in his life, however brief our interludes were, brought him incredible peace of mind. His disappointment at the distance between us. His regret at not being able to give me more. More time. More of himself.

It wasn't until a drop hit the paper that I realized I was crying. The mixed emotions that overtook me manifested in laughter. Oh, god. He had given me so much of what he could. How did he not understand . . . I cherished every moment.

The rest of the letter was a plea for understanding. For time. A plea to allow him to be selfish and keep hold of me. If even just until I wanted him no more. An inelegant snort left my lips. Wanted him no more. I would crave him till the end of time. The letter ended with a request that I write him back if I so wanted. He gave me the address to his office. I could not bring myself to feel guilt over his unspoken of wife.

I left at that movement and went to a speciality store in the French Quarter. There I found exactly what I was looking. Off white, turn of the century style with a small purple flower in the bottom corner. Envelopes to go with it. A spur of the moment purchase containing calligraphy set with different coloured inks. My walk home was filled with thoughts of what I would say. How I would respond in order to convince him of my desire. How he would feel if I reiterated my promise of fidelity. I smirked slightly wondering how he would feel receiving an erotic letter.

Maybe not in the first letter.

After a light supper, I sat at my desk, surrounded by candles, a glass of merlot. I chose the red ink. Passion. I had no idea how to start. Needed something. I crossed the room to my collection of records. There was just something about the scratch and grit of jazz standards on vinyl.

_'All the Things You Are'_by Ella Fitzgerald seemed to epitomize what I was feeling. Once the first notes rang out, I slipped into my memories and the words flowed freely. I reminded him of the night I gave him everything. How I held nothing back. How he accepted from me what no other woman had offered him before. A vow that that would never change. He had me until the end of time. Him. No other. My vow of fidelity was given freely and with love.

I read my letter over when I was finished. Parts of it showed the fragility of my state of mind. Parts showed my strength of commitment. He would probably profile this letter without meaning to. I wanted to rip it up and start afresh but this letter was honest. Showed him the depths of my very soul.

Once the ink was set deeply in the paper, I folded it gently and placed it in the envelope. A girlish thought of scenting it flashed thru my mind. Instead I licked the flap and sealed a piece of my heart for him.

Even though he had given me his office address, I didn't want to raise suspicion among those who knew him so well. I had overnight delivery packets that I used for work. I placed my letter on one of those. He received those all the time with requests for his help from all over the world. No one would think twice about one arriving. I felt a need to protect not only him but the small amount of peace I could provide for him. Once he recognized the postmark he would open it in private.

When my mail was delivered the next morning, they took the packet. I smiled knowing he would understand the significance of the two dried purple petals I couldn't resist adding.


	6. The Look of Love

It was a busy couple of months for me. I was helping to write a movie soundtrack with a friend. The same artist who had lent me the villa in Italy. We had grown close over the years and I had reaped the benefits of the friendship. I had had to relocate to LA for the majority of the year. That did not in any way hinder our relationship of prose. Every week I received a letter of incredible detail. Of his work, of his thoughts, his feelings. In a way, the written word enabled us to know each other on a more personal level than if we lived in the same house. We could both reveal things on paper that we may never have done so face to face. We knew each other intimately. His greatest gift to me was telling me that I understood him better than anyone.

Anyone.

* * *

While I was in LA, there was a rash of brutal murders. The victim was a very specific type. Petite, brunette, blue eyes, professional. Everything in complete similarity to me. Though, I knew enough to take extra precautions and the house I was staying in was part of a gated community with private security.

It was still early morning when I heard the mail sliding thru the door slot. I held my breath as I collected it. I hadn't received a letter in nearly three weeks. That had never occurred before. And I was beginning to worry. Had he changed his mind? Had his wife found out? I knew nothing dire had happened because my friends in Washington were a fount of gossip. But any number of other possibilities ran the gauntlet of my mind.

Disappointed resignation flooded my body when no cream colored envelope appeared. My arms felt heavy, my legs were numb. This was it. The end. It hurt. Oh God it hurt. Tears welled in my eyes and soon the tracks of my tears were visible for all to see. Except of course, I had no one to see them.

I fully admit that I was overreacting. But I was lonely, missing my home. Missing him. His touch, his presence. LA was a mecca for those in search of casual. If I had so wanted, my loneliness would not have been an issue. But I had promised fidelity. Neither my heart nor my body would respond to a stranger.

My day passed me by without making much of an impact on my consciousness. Studio checks and a couple of quick rewrites. I was working on autopilot. Pulling into the driveway I was shocked to realize I couldn't remember even driving away from downtown. I gathered my things, stepped out and shut the door. I froze when I heard an echoing slam. So many fears ran thru my mind as I heard footsteps behind me. I slowly turned, hoping it was my friend.

It wasn't. It was the object of my every waking thought. He was dressed in one of his dark suits. The bulge on his hip and left ankle told me that his presence in LA was for business not pleasure. His face carried a grimness that I had not seen in some years.

Oh, but his eyes. His eyes were the epitome of emotion. Fear, relief, desire.

I stood, unable to move towards him. It was such a clichéd moment. I could almost hear the rising orchestra music. The sun setting over the Hollywood sign as a gentle breeze lifts my hair from my shoulders. A soft sob that brings the heroine back to reality as she rushes into her hero's arms.

Instead I looked to him and waited. He walked towards me slowly as if gauging my reaction to him after so many months of quiet honesty. His intrusion into my personal space brought with it the heat from his body, a faint hint of his cologne. I could not raise my eyes from his lips. Instinctively, the tips of my fingers traced them. He leaned in closer, breathing deeply. His sigh of contentment had me dropping my things in order to embrace him.

He responded in kind and for long moments we merely stood there, gaining what we could from what I imagined would be a short reprieve. His cheek rested against my head. His words said so softly that had it not been so still an evening, I may have missed them.

His team was here to help the police. It was more horrific than what had been released. I fit the type perfectly. The last victim had been from New Orleans. Could have been my sister. He hadn't heard from me. His last letter had been returned unopened.

His body shook even as he tried to hide it from me. I felt the moisture on my head. I could only hold on tighter until he regained control. I was no stranger to seeing emotional release from him. Love, desire, passion, anger. Never before had I experienced his fear. It was stunning.

He relinquished his hold and stepped back. Only inches though. I knew what he needed. Affirmation that I was there. Hadn't gone anywhere. That I was still part of his life. My smile wasn't all he craved.

Hours later, we lay in each other's arms. The emotional upheaval of the day for both of us had been erased. Erased thru sight, touch, scent, sound, taste. I was surrounded by his warmth and being. Had done my best to ingrain my soul to his. To give a connection that could be felt thousands of miles away.

Two days later, his work was done. He had to return to Virginia the next morning. A quiet dinner and a passionate couple of hours ended our time together. As we swayed to Diana Krall's _'The Look of Love'_, his hands traced the contours of my body.

But something was different. I felt in his touch what I had read in his letters. Silent honesty had brought an unexpected windfall. He no longer held back anything now. Face to face he told me in his words and touch, where I belonged in his life.

This time there was someone to see the tracks of my tears. And he kissed them away.


	7. Thinkin' of You

Our times together increased substantially after that. My work in LA was the beginning of my career. I had dabbled in song writing before, but after my work on the soundtrack won some of the biggest awards in the music industry, I was in high demand. This allowed me to pick and chose when and where I worked. I bought a beautiful old plantation house and moved in while renovations were still being done. Because of my level of comfort, I could take trips east whenever I was able. It was much less suspicious then him traveling to me.

Sometimes his work took him away so often, our schedules didn't collide for a couple of months. But when we were reunited, we reaffirmed our bond.

* * *

I took a trip to Toronto that coincided with Valentine's Day, partially for work and partially for rest. The demands on my time had been overwhelming. A couple of days without deep thinking would give me a clear head. New perspectives on future projects. New ideas for song requests. I was never happier in my professional and personal life.

The trip was mentioned in my last letter. I gave him details of my impending vacation. He insisted on that, ever since LA. Sometimes along with the details of which flight, which hotel, I would add in erotic descriptions. Like how I would have a long hot bath, think of him and try to recreate his touch. Details like that had once gotten me an erotic phone conversation which he conducted from his office at work. It was a pleasant surprise to hear his voice. Not something we chanced too often.

My flight had been delayed and so my ride wasn't able to meet me at the airport or drive me to the hotel. Instead I was met by a chauffeured town car he had arranged. **He,**was an old friend from school that now owned a couple of restaurant and bars. Somehow he had convinced me to give a semi-private show that night for friends and investors. It was already late afternoon by the time I dropped onto the king size bed of my room. The bedding was so soft I had to force myself up and into the shower.

Divine intervention played a part in my dress that evening. Classic LBD, backless. My legs aren't long but this dress enhanced them. I left my hair down; my make up was dark and dramatic. There was no logical reason for my actions. I was only singing one set as a favour. Still, it instilled a confidence in me. I felt sensual and beautiful. It was barely evening as I made my way out. Hoping to be finished in time for a late supper somewhere.

The pianist that was accompanying let me make each song my own. He gave the basics of the melody and I sang from my heart. As I was performing Sarah Vaughn's _'Thinking of You'_, my body reacted to a change in the atmosphere of the club. A cold shiver trembled my spine, a flash of intense heat rocketed throughout my body. It took all my concentration to finish the song.

Scanning the crowd amidst the applause, I discovered the reason for my visceral reaction. He stood by the bar, holding a glass of amber. Such was my shock at seeing him that it felt as if I floated over the floor. My hand rose of its own accord and took the glass. The familiar burn brought pleasant warmth with it.

No words needed to be spoken. They would only intrude on the silent world we had created around ourselves. Someone brought me my coat and purse, their words of congratulations lost. My focus was solely on him. My hand felt small tucked securely in his as we exited the bar. And still we did not speak.

I motioned to the chauffeured town car that was mine, courtesy of my friend. He smiled and helped me inside. His only words consisted of an address. I smiled, puzzled. He only leaned in to brush his lips against mine. A promise of things to come. So I rested my head against his chest, listening to the heartbeat that echoed my own.

The address was for a chic new restaurant. Quiet, classic, romantic. Everything I dreamed of having with him on this day but never expecting it. Strawberry spinach salad. Full-bodied Merlot. Moroccan Beef with Couscous. Sweet baklava with strong spiced coffee.

No frivolity tonight. Nothing to shatter this fragile moment in which he was completely mine.

After supper, we found a secluded little blues bar. Wrapped up in each other, the evening passed quickly. My breath quickened at the thought of what lay ahead. He did not disappoint. Neither did I. He showed me affection. I showed him love. No part was left untouched. Mind, body, soul.

In the morning, our world of make believe came to an end. One night was all he was able to give. I acknowledged that with a maturity that comes with being the other woman for so long. That he chose me for Valentines was enough.

Before he left, I timidly gave him the gift I had so agonizingly decided on. Hs face as he opened it would stay with me forever. The quality of the watch, though high, was not why I was suddenly embraced in an unyielding kiss. It was the inscription. _Completa, il mio amore_.

His grip was tight enough, that I knew marks would be visible tomorrow. They served as proof of our stolen moments. I would cherish them when he was gone.

Our embrace ended with the need for breath. His eyes never left mine as he reached into his jacket pocket. A small blue box lay in the palm of his hand. I took it with a shaking hand and opened it gingerly. Inside, delicately placed, was a platinum and diamond bangle. As I picked it up, the inside revealed an inscription. _Completare con voi.  
_  
He fastened it on my wrist, knowing it would never come off. Just as I knew the watch would never be worn. It didn't matter. A tender goodbye and he was gone back to Virginia and back to her.

I would like to say that at some point I felt guilt over his marriage. I would like to say that having been one who was cheated on, that I wouldn't inflect that pain on another. But I couldn't say such. He was my other half. I was made whole that first night. Made whole in a way that was sanctioned by higher powers and only a lucky few ever know.


	8. Steal Away

If I had known what would occur at our next rendezvous, if I could have fathomed the sequence of events that precipitated the demise of our stolen moments of heaven. . . I would never have. . . It doesn't matter of course. None of it does. Because I went when he called. Just as I always did. Nothing short of death could interfere. But had I known . . . oh god, had I known.

* * *

The renovations on my house were completed towards the middle of the summer. My home was everything I had ever dreamt of. An upper and lower balcony surrounded the house. My bedroom on the second floor was half of the entire level. My bathroom was nearly as big as my first apartment. A large deep soaking tub, wood fireplace. I spent almost as much time in there as anywhere else. Instead of windows, I had double patio doors installed on each wall of my bedroom. In the evening, I would open them all to the night air. The warm breeze brought with it the scent of the jasmine I had planted all around my property.

We hadn't spoken in a few months although our letters continued. Each one an exercise in self control. It was so tempting to give it all up and move to be close to him. I knew he probably would have no objections. And yet as much as I wanted, it would only be constant torture. He had other obligations that took precedent over a secret lover. I had suggested it jokingly once. He had a very thoughtful look on his face but never gave an opinion either way. I didn't speak of it again.

It was an extremely humid evening. Too hot to do anything but take a bath and simply exist. I poured up a glass of Chardonnay. Full bodied with a hint of buttery spice. Mixed nicely with the vanilla oil soaking into my skin. I rested my head on the edge and closed my eyes. The warm water, comforting smells and the gentle breeze cooling my skin. I drifted between reality and dreamscape. Even my love of jazz on vinyl was unwelcome.

The tranquility was broken when _'Mad About the Boy'_drifted softly from my cell. I could only picture the smile that overcame my face. Our song. His ringtone. Well, one of our songs. I could tell you every melody that had significance in our past.

His voice was low but filled with an excitement I soon shared with him. He was being sent to Scotland Yard as a liaison. For a month. And he wanted me to come. Spend an entire month with him in a foreign country. Thousands of miles from his job, co workers and his wife. Denial of his request never crossed my mind. A week later I boarded a plane.

My successes allowed for me to have a suite in a very nice hotel. Bedroom, bathroom and a lounging area. I unpacked a small suitcase containing a few essentials. London, Paris, Prague. I had every intention of augmenting my wardrobe with European influences.

I showered and changed into something comfortable. I knew that even though he had arrived two days ago, he probably wouldn't be over tonight. He warned me it would take a few days for him to settle in. So I ordered room service. Had a couple of glasses of wine and drifted away to words of love set to music.

I awoke to Etta James _'Steal Away'_ and a ghost of a kiss on my lips. Fingertips trailing down my cheek, my neck, my breasts. A cheek pressing against my hair, a deep breath in my ear. A low voice whispering a greeting. Hands lifting my shirt up and away, making quick work of my shorts. He guided one leg to the floor; the other was placed atop the couch as he slid downward. As Etta sang about having _'One Night'_my breathy gasps and low moans filled the room.

He sat back with a completely smug look on his face as I tried to catch my breath. My eyes closed from the sheer pleasure I had just been given. I heard his movements as I lay there. The sound of shoes being slipped off. A jacket tossed to the side. I motioned with my hand for him to continue. When he had divested the last remaining obstacle, I moved over him. Slowly, slowly. My breath hitched at our joining. His groan was muffled against my neck, teeth and tongue leaving his mark. This time a smug look graced my face as he whispered my name over and over.

During the next week, we shared dinners, nightcaps, beds. His room was a floor below mine but he preferred to come to me. He had a training session over the first weekend I was there. Knowing it would occupy most of his time, I took the opportunity to travel to Prague. It was an incredible two days. But I longed for him. My body missed his touch. My tongue missed his taste. I was an addict suffering withdrawal.

I returned to London intent on remedying our separation as quickly as possible. I arranged a private booth at the Royal Opera House in London. They were showing La Boheme, one of my favorites. Before that dinner in a private suite at the hotel. Afterwards . . . well afterwards would take care of itself.

All of this was arranged as a surprise for him. My only contact a text message. **Tuxedo. The Henry suite. 6pm.  
**  
I waited for an hour before he came rushing in with an apology spilling from his lips. The last session had run on. One of the agents had questions afterwards. He sat as I stood. I wasn't upset just disappointed. We had to leave so as not to be late for the opening act. He cursed softly and reached for my coat. I allowed him to put it on. Even turning in the arms that clutched me tightly to kiss him. But I knew. Something had changed.

The rest of the evening was pleasant. Especially our return to my room. It was as if he was determined to prove to me the sincerity of his regret. I would have declared it unnecessary had his perseverance not been so convincing. We slept wrapped around one another.

In the morning, I inquired as to his weekend. He became animated as he relayed his impressions of Scotland Yard and its inspectors. It wasn't until his voice took on a rather softer tone did I understand my awakening fear. He was describing one particular inspector. Inspector Joyner. Over the next few days Inspector Joyner became Kate.

The following weekend, I was supposed to go to Paris. However, my growing jealousy of the time he spent with the female inspector had me suggesting I stay. He paused before saying it was just as well I go. They were going to co-instruct a seminar on profiling. It would take some preparation before and would be rather extensive. He didn't want me to be bored. I agreed readily enough. In reality my heart was breaking. He was sending me away to spend time with her. It wasn't rational to leap to such a conclusion. I knew he was here for just these purposes. But there was something in the way he spoke about her. He assured me that he would take a few days off and we would explore London. I felt my heart lightening at his words.

Paris was not quite the distraction I was hoping for. My body was present, my heart was in London. I spent the majority of my time in the hotel room. When Sunday came I was eager to leave. I hadn't received any word from him. At all. I prayed he was simply occupied with work.

I fell asleep waiting for him. When the sun's rays brought me to awareness on Monday morning, I knew defeat. I rose from the couch as tears gathered in my eyes. I would pack and leave. What else could I do? The sudden opening of my suite door startled me. He entered slowly, obviously wanting to refrain from waking me. His face held a guilt I had never noticed on him before. Certainly he had never shown that emotion with me. His eyes caught mine and he smiled a little as he entered the room fully.

Another apology. Another acceptance. What else could I do?

For two days he gave me his undivided attention. We walked thru Piccadilly Circus. We toured Trafalgar Square. He held my hand. He kissed me under the shadow of London's Tower Bridge. My insecurities fled. When he returned to work the next day, I relaxed and spent the day composing.

We had made no solid plans for the evening, so I gave an acquaintance a call. He represented an artist in the UK that was interested in having me write a song. A supper was arranged for that evening in the hotel restaurant.

Not knowing when his day would end, I called and left a message on his cell.

The meeting went well. The artist remarked that my writing showed a jazz influence that he really liked. He wanted at least three songs for his next album. I was thrilled. We talked and laughed over a bottle of Merlot. The evening ended with a friendly kiss on the cheek.

As I entered my suite, I came face to face with him. A thunderous look encompassed his face. I froze where I stood. He stalked over to my motionless body and reached behind me to close the door forcefully. He took hold of my arm and walked me over the couch with determination. I sat, still uneasy with his obvious anger. I had never witnessed him so fill with fury. What had happened today to cause this?

To my utter shock he demanded to know who I had dinner with. He took my stunned silence to mean a refusal to explain. His voice became low and his words biting as he asked again. I stuttered that it was a meet and greet with a potential client. His eyes held disbelief even as his comments reflected it. Still shaken with his behavior I reiterated my explanation.

I kept eye contact with him, slowly becoming angry myself at his now obvious suspicions. I spoke calmly and directly to him. A work meeting. Nothing more. Had he already forgotten the promises I had made. That I was his and his alone. As I spoke he became ashamed and told me so. That he had no right to act as he did. But there was something in him that he couldn't control when it came to me.

Part of me rejoiced at this possessiveness. Another part of me was furious. I had given him everything. He gave me one or two nights a year or more. I wasn't the one who was late for dinners. Who hadn't returned a call or a text. But my weaker side won out because deep down I knew what I couldn't say. I was his no matter the circumstance or eventuality. And as he staked his claim later that night, I knew. His own guilt over being with me played no part. It was the culpability he was feeling over being with the inspector.

The next week was fraught with tension. He cancelled dinner at least three times and only stayed with me for one night. As the weekend drew near, he began dropping hints that he would be unavailable for the better part of it. I could only nod and kept my suspicions hidden from his keen eye. I had made up my mind as I lay in a cold empty bed all week.

My belongings were packed and waiting by the door as the sun rose. I hadn't slept the night before, waiting to see if he would return to me. The destruction of my hope was complete when I called his room and received a recorded 'do not disturb' message. I took one last look around the room that had held so much promise a few weeks ago. Tears traced silvery paths from my eyes as I stepped into the elevator. My breath hitched and I nearly stumbled when I reached the lobby. It was empty save the morning staff beginning their day. The host bid me good morning as she rushed by. I wanted to yell that it was anything but. Bleakness had descended on my soul.

Handing over my card key, the young women on the desk spoke softly in response to my demeanor. In seconds, she had a bellhop taking my luggage to the hotels car. I thanked her and handed her an envelope. It was to be given to the guest whose name the envelope bore. Only if he inquired about me. She gave a solemn promise to follow my wishes.

I left then. What else was there for me to do? If I had only known. . .


	9. If You Could See Me Now

The next years of my life were a struggled balance of professional success and personal despair. My work was well respected and received in the music world. And if I wrote mostly about heartache and loss, well there was always someone willing to sing it. Every once in a while I would wander down to the Quarter, to my favorites and entertain patrons who didn't know or care about my name. Resisting the urge to lose myself in alcohol became a full time job. A depression had settled on me as a heavy blanket. Never once in those years was I given a glimmer of hope as to a change of heart. And I refused to debase myself further by calling or writing.

Any request to head to the East was met with refusal. I would give Fate no chance to put him in my path. I would never completely release him from my soul but I had done a commendable job of burying him deep. To have him wrenched back into my life would be disastrous. So I hid in New Orleans, far from the fast paced world of his.

Sometimes when I was lying in bed at night, my mind would betray me. I would see his face; my body would remind me of what his touch invoked. But I never let another tear fall. He had made a choice that separated us and I was paying the price. It angered me but the anger never lasted.

My birthday that year was a milestone in a women's life. It was towards the end of June when New Orleans was warm and balmy. I decided that I would host a party in my home. Some of my closest friends were flying in as well as past and present work clients. A catering company would take care of the food and the decorating company was thrilled at the potential of my home. All the while I thanked a higher being that he had never been here. No ghost of our past haunting me.

The morning of the party, I came downstairs intending to see to last minute details. The fading sound of tires on my driveway alerted me to mail. I headed to the door and froze as I saw but a single letter waiting for me. A large cream colored envelope so like the ones I had not received in years. I felt the blood drain from my face. My knees became weak and gave way. Sitting on the floor, with my arms wrapped around myself, I sobbed in agony.

Why? Why now? After all this time. Did he have some sense that I had buried him deep? That his letter arrived on my birthday was no coincidence. With the exception of the last couple, he had sent me something every year since Italy. The arrival of this letter meant something. I just didn't know what. The panic and despair this letter represented was tenfold that of the first letter he had ever sent. I couldn't remember moving but realization set in when the envelope was in my trembling hands.

I don't know how long I sat there, just staring. Such a myriad of emotions ran thru me. Love. Hate. Fear. Disappointment. My body couldn't keep up with the physical reactions. I dragged myself upstairs and lay across my bed. There was nothing to do but open it. I took a deep breath hoping to find the courage I once had. I didn't get past the first line.

_My Own_.

I threw the letter to the side and got up. Not tonight. He wouldn't have me tonight. I took a long hot bath, vanilla oil making my skin butter soft. I dressed in a dark blue silk dress. Its design leaving no option for under garments. My hair I left in long curls and my make up was dark and sultry. No jewelry.

The decorating company had been given leave to do as they pleased. Candles of all sizes adorned every flat surface. Dark fragrant flowers for center pieces. Like gothic romance come to life. The catering company kept it simple. Finger foods. Rich desserts. Waiters saved Merlot and Chardonnay in tall crystal glasses. My jazz collection was well played that night. It was an evening of decadence and all I could think about was the damned letter.

After several glasses of merlot, I was approached by an old flame. My high school sweetheart, in fact. It had been years and we chatted as if no time had passed at all. He spoke of his work as a pediatrician in the local children's hospital. How he was going thru a messy divorce. I found myself sympathizing with him and sharing wine. The evening proceeded more pleasantly after that. We laughed as we relieved old times. I drifted from group to group; all the while he stayed by my side. When the servers brought out my cake, I was in awe. Three tall levels of Belgium chocolate, light fluffy cream icing, white chocolate lilies. And the correct number of candles. I glared at my oldest and dearest friend. It took me only one breath to extinguish them. I dared not make a wish.

After cake, I opened my gifts. Crystal, cashmere, an original painting. Words could not describe how I felt surrounded by my friends. Such joy. The party wrapped up a little later. Both companies promising to come tomorrow and clean up. Promises and assurances of get togethers were made. I said good bye to all, not realizing my old flame remained. I turned and he was standing there, looking as good as he ever had.

The journey upstairs was slowed by passionate kisses and the discarding of clothing. I had forgotten how well versed he was in making love. He made my body sing as it had not for so long. The wine worked its magic on my brain and I grew confused. I began to remember nights in Italy, a night in Toronto. Brief meetings behind closed doors. And at my moment of completion, I called out the wrong name.

Immediately I rolled over and began to cry. Warm arms I encircled and held me as I emptied myself of everything I had held back since London. It wasn't the arms I wished for but they were comforting none the less. I must have fallen asleep, for the sun's rays on my face woke me in the early morning. I was alone. Utterly alone once again. A short note told me he wished me peace and joy. Guilt weighed heavily on me. He certainly didn't deserve last night. And now I couldn't even apologize properly.

I sighed and slid from the bed. As I did, I heard something fall to the floor by my bare feet. I chuckled mirthlessly as I felt the straight edge along my instep. Reaching down I knew the best thing would be to read it and move on. What could he possibly say that would be worse than what he had done? I needed strength and for that I needed music. Carmen McRae's _'If You Could See Me Now'_stung me to my very soul. I broke the seal and read.

_My Own._

And I still was. Would always be. As was our custom, a case gone wrong had resonated something inside him. Brunette victims, the killer almost apprehended. In a coma unable to be prosecuted. His wife not understanding or knowing what he needed. His words flowed from apology to devotion to plea. His writing was jerky and it places he pressed so deep, I could feel the words on the other side. I ran my finger over them, trying to imagine him holding the paper. Breathing deeply to catch a hint of his nearly forgotten scent. His words contain no excuses, no demands for understanding. He asked for the chance to speak with me. Barring that, for me to respond in a letter. And if he had hurt me and driven me away, that I forget this letter. He wished for me happiness and love, even if he were not the one to bestow it on me.

I am not ashamed to admit that my first response to his letter was a scream of frustration and anger. As if now that he had reached out, that I could ignore what my heart had been screaming for. Once I had gotten those emotions out of the way, I gave way to tears. First of sadness and then happiness. I couldn't call. My emotions were still too raw. But I would write.

The paper I had bought so long ago still sat on my desk. My own hands shook as I filled the pen with purple ink.

_My Own. _

Everything I had felt in London and for the past years came flowing out onto the paper. I held nothing back. I needed him to know the pain and humiliation he had caused. But also the longing and love that I had never fully admitted. I dared not say it to his face but here I could. I knew it wouldn't drive him away. Not now.

The letter was thirteen pages long. A childish giggle escaped as I thought of his face when he opened it. I folded the pages and slipped them into the envelope. Before sealing it, I dropped a couple of dried jasmine petals inside. That above all else would convey my true feelings.

I felt hope and a sense of renewal. The next months brought a letter or more a week. After that, long phone calls. His voice . . . dear god his voice. The first time I heard it, my body shivered in delight. We didn't waste time on the past. Instead we spoke of the future. This time when I mentioned moving up there, he agreed. Said he would look into apartments in the city.

There were no words to express the newfound joy in my life. In a few short months we had gotten back to and passed the level of intensity we had reached before. I told him now without fear of my love. I knew he couldn't respond back just yet. That didn't bother me. I knew from his actions.

And now if I wrote mostly about love and togetherness, well there was always someone who wanted to sing about that too.


	10. Dedicated to You

There was no specific moment to remember after my birthday. The next time we were together, he was helping me move into my new house. A wonderful three story brownstone close enough to his work, far enough away from his . . . other life. Maybe I was delusional thinking that I was part of his real life and his wife was for show. I only knew that it was me he came to when the case was too much. When something went wrong. When something went right. Somehow I always knew exactly what he needed in that moment in time.

* * *

I will never be sure if she had suspicions about me, or if it was the way he began to distance himself from her. But he came to me one night in a mood that I couldn't identify. He paced the kitchen as I cooked. I knew by now that whatever was bothering him, he needed to mull it over first. I would glance to him every now and then, making sure he was alright.

When he sat gracelessly with a frustrated sigh, I placed a tumbler of whiskey in his reach. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips before he downed the glass. He leaned more fully into the chair as his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling. His hand twisted the glass round and round on the table. I recognized the signs of a winless situation. Moving to stand behind him, I put my hands to use. Slowly as I massaged his neck and shoulders, the tension eased. His head turned to rest on one hand as he laid his own on the other. We stayed motionless for long moments. Then he spoke.

The past months, having me here, had been more wonderful and beneficial to him then he had ever imagined. To have a safe haven where he could express himself without censorship. It had become invaluable. I remarked that this haven would always be here for him. To which he replied back with the last thing I could have ever imagined.

She had gotten pregnant. On purpose without discussing it with him. They had agreed to wait for a few more years before trying. Now, without explanation she had stopped taking precautions. I sat down beside him, my mind racing. Was he happy?

In my heart of hearts, I knew why he was so reluctant to bring children into this world. Not just because of the things he saw every day, but because of his own childhood. In one of our earlier times together we had discussed the ramifications of my conceiving. I assured him that I was always prepared and we had never had cause to worry. He told me his reasons then. If not for the fact that he was already dead, I could have happily murdered his father.

And now, she had gone and done the one thing that terrified him the most. Bringing a child into the world where he might repeat his father's behavior. I knew that in order for him to deal with this, I would need to remind him of why I was living here in Virginia.

I spoke softly of his infinite patience, his kindness, his pure heart. Most important was his ability to remove himself from the situation to see all sides. He was rarely quick to anger and had never once raised a hand to anyone in anything other than self defense. No matter how deserving. I spoke straight from my heart and I realized that I envied her. I would have given anything to bear his child. I could never betray him by doing what she had done. But the thought of mutual agreement was euphoric.

He leaned forward and kissed me deeply. His hands cupping my face as he looked into my eyes. He told me that I was his only solace and he didn't know what he would do without me. I told him that he would be an amazing father and no matter the circumstance, he would know how to handle things as they came.

He stayed with me that night. When I mentioned he would be expected elsewhere, he quieted me in the best way possible. We held each other and talked, we laughed, we touched, we tasted. It was wonderful.

Life went on as usual. We saw each other at least once a week. He spent the night every other time he came over. Of course we spoke every day. If he was away on a case, particularly a bad one, I heard from him more than that. Everything was going so well, that something had to go wrong.

He and his team were called to Boston to deal with a bomber. I tried to never keep up with the cases he worked on. It disturbed me to think of the dangers he faced on a daily basis. I knew he was one of the best in the world at what he did. It didn't make facing the prospect of losing him any less daunting. I wouldn't watch television and limited my time on the Internet. I knew I would obsess over every little detail if I allowed myself.

I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news. I was standing in line to get coffee at the cafe near my house. The morning talk show was interrupted with a special broadcast. An explosion in Boston. FBI agents. Number of dead unknown. Somehow, I made it to a table before my legs gave out. I watched as the reporter gave vague, unhelpful information. I felt like screaming until I had no breath left in my body. I was so intent on the screen that the stranger sitting behind me alerted me to the fact that my cell phone was ringing. My hands were shaking and I nearly dropped it on the floor. I didn't recognize the number and that only fueled my fear.

I will never be able to describe the feeling of relief as I heard his voice. The first words out of his mouth were, it wasn't me and I'm alright. I took a shaky breath before trying to respond. But no words would come. I could only produce a slight sound that I hope sounded positive. He repeated that he was okay but that he had to go. Had others to call. Others to check on. But he would see me tomorrow. He hung up without waiting for a reply which was just as well since I was still incapable of talking.

I dropped my head into my hands and took several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. When I felt I could stand without ending up on my knees, I headed for the door. I ignored everything around me as I walked home. Although I knew he had been in danger before during cases, this was the first time I could appreciate what the significant others of law enforcement officers go through. It was a testament to their strength of character and enduring love.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning my house. I needed mind numbing activities that wouldn't leave me any time to think. Although I preferred vinyl, my mp3 player could be carried around the house with me as I worked. The volume was past where it should have been but it kept me from dwelling on the events of the day.

Ella Fitzgerald couldn't have said it better when she sang _'Dedicated to You'_. I focused on the lyrics and thought of the next day when he would come strolling in the door. He'd toss his tailored jacket over his chair in the den. Pour two fingers of scotch or maybe whiskey. Pour me a glass of merlot before placing a record on. He'd find me in the kitchen finishing supper or if it was a late day, in my studio. I'd greet him with a kiss. It's intensity a reflection of his demeanor. Soft and teasing, quick and harsh or rarely I'd wait for his command. The rest of the night would be spent as if we were a normal couple.

The following day turned out nothing as I imagined. He arrived earlier than I was used to. He was agitated again and paced the floor of the den. This time I stepped into his path. No artificial courage this time. Whatever he needed, he would have to speak without even the smallest aide.

His sigh came as he sat in the leather chair I had chosen with him in mind. He told me of his unit chief's decision. The lives that had been lost. How the higher ups had placed him temporarily in charge of the unit. He felt as if he was betraying his mentor even though he had been first choice to replace him by said mentor. His wife was upset because it meant more responsibly and time away. She didn't want him to accept. Wanted him to transfer to a less active unit.

I hated her so much in that moment, I had to turn my face for fear that his astute observational skills pick up my thoughts. Her selfishness was beyond contemptible and I wished for one moment that I could confront her but that would never happen. It was beyond my capability to betray him.

Once I felt that I could control my emotions sufficiently, I turned back to him.

I should have known better than to try and hide anything from him. He had a soft smile on his face. I sighed and walked over to him. He reached for my hand and giving it a slight tug, brought me to sit in his lap. He held me with a tenderness I doubt he showed anyone at work. I apologized to him. The last thing he needed was to believe that I would start complaining about that part of his life. He touched my lips softly with the tips of his fingers. He quirked a smile as I bit them gently in retaliation.

I reiterated that I believed in him and his abilities. That they obviously recognized in him what I had known for nearly a decade. His brilliance, his empathy, professionalism were without equal. With a smirk, he claimed I was angling for something. I replied I had the only thing I needed.

He accepted his supervisor's offer of promotion. After three months it was made permanent when his mentor declined to return to active field duty. She continued to pressure him about a transfer. When he refused she seemed to accept his decision. Although I never voiced my opinion to him, nor let him see my doubt, I knew that she had not had her final say. And when she did it would devastate him.

The only thing I could do was what I had always done. Anticipate his needs and give him my unconditional love.


End file.
